


Control Freak Needs Controlling

by LadyLaela (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bladder Control, Desperation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Omorashi, Public Humiliation, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LadyLaela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D was pretty sure Bro was ignoring him at this point - it wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. He grabbed the script, shuffled it a little to make sure at least most of it was there, and tapped it on the desk to straighten it. He took another sip from his cup of Starbucks, which really needed a reheat, and flinched a little when he shifted to get up.</p><p>Yeah, he wasn't kidding when he said his bladder only had so much room. Coffee did nothing if not go right the hell through him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control Freak Needs Controlling

theatricalGladiator [TG] started pestering technologicToy [TT]  
TG: bored  
TG: bored  
TG: BORED  
TT: Jesus christ. Calm the fuck down, I was in the shower.  
TG: yeah well im wasting away here while you masturbate you selfish asshole  
TT: Who said I was masturbating?  
TG: are you seriously trying to tell me you werent masturbating  
TG: loling so hard i might piss my fucking pants  
TT: I never said I wasn't.  
TT: You're a big boy you can deal with a whole day of work.  
TG: shut up you lazy ass  
TG: you only leave the house to dj and like thats even a job  
TG: ive been pulling eighteen hour days here with only a cold hotel room to go back to okay  
TG: cold because the air conditioning is broken im pretty sure i keep turning the fucking thing down  
TG: hello i have top booking and i still get a shitty hotel room are you messing with me  
TG: must be  
TT: I sense a hell of a lot of coffee.  
TG: yeah lost track  
TT: You're a fucking lunatic. I'm making you detox when you get back or you won't sleep for the next two months.  
TG: mostly worried about not sleeping right now  
TG: im expected to stay here for what probably another five hours  
TG: got me here at seven am  
TG: sadists  
TG: think im just gonna set up like an intravenous thingie here on my desk so i can just shoot up caffeine that sounds cool  
TG: bypass the step with my mouth then maybe itd leave some room for food  
TT: I really want to punch you in the common sense right now. That might make it reboot and start workin again.  
TG: only enough for so many cups of coffee right now

D Strider set his blackberry back on his desk, fidgeting. Bro always gave him crap for his bad habits when he was away working, so he was pretty used to completely fucking ignoring it. He tugged gently at the locked chain around his right wrist, tight enough to be snug against the skin but plenty loose to slide. The cold lock came to rest against the inside of his wrist as he slid the chain back and forth restlessly.

There were things he was supposed to be doing, but it was getting harder and harder to focus with the caffeine jitters. He found himself reading and rereading the same lines of the script in front of him over and over again

TG: only so much room in my bladder too  
TG: man i cant even remember what im supposed to do anymore  
TT: And this is why they pay you so much?

D checked the time. It took a few minutes, because every time he woke up his phone he spaced out a little and thought he was just checking for a new message from Bro.

TG: whoa meeting with the big guys in five  
TG: gotta love producers  
TG: bet i wont even get to talk as if those assholes give half a dick what i have to say  
TG: which is why they pay me so much so  
TG: safe to say ive never really understood that

D was pretty sure Bro was ignoring him at this point - it wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. He grabbed the script, shuffled it a little to make sure at least most of it was there, and tapped it on the desk to straighten it. He took another sip from his cup of Starbucks, which really needed a reheat, and flinched a little when he shifted to get up.

Yeah, he wasn't kidding when he said his bladder only had so much room. Coffee did nothing if not go right the hell through him.

TG: ive gotta piss like the international kegstand champion here  
TT: No.

The answer came so quick it almost startled him. He'd frequently leave Bro pages of messages with hours between responses, and he'd been pretty damn sure attention was not being paid. However, he froze when he saw it - Bro was his Dom, and though he rarely exercised that outside of the bedroom, a denial couldn't be ignored.

TG: what  
TT: What's not to understand? You're not going to piss.  
TG: are you shitting me right now  
TT: Don't question me. You said a lil somethin about wetting your pants up there and that appeals to me.

D tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. The moment Bro said he couldn't piss, his bladder became a lead brick and his belt was way too tight. He'd never noticed the buckle dug into his stomach so fucking much.

TG: um  
TG: did you not see the whole thing about the meeting with all the producers and important people and all that jazz  
TG: you prob didnt read it so i forgive you  
TT: I read it.

Fuck. D checked the time again. Three minutes until he had to be in that meeting, and he felt uncomfortably full. There was a slow burn starting in his bladder, and he clenched his muscles, biting the inside of his lip. 

TG: when can i go then  
TT: We'll see.

There was no choice. He had to go to the meeting. The lock felt very heavy around his wrist - it was usually only a slight comforting weight. He tucked the script at his side; and actually standing forced him to squeeze his muscles even tighter. He already really had to go, and he was full of dread at the thought of sitting in that boardroom for an undefined period of time. Every step makes his bladder jiggle heavily against the band of his pants. Now that he's thinking about it, there's definitely a little painful tingle.

D's relieved to sit down in the plush leather chair in the boardroom, though what he gained from less gravity he lost from his belt cutting into his stomach. It pushed into just the wrong spot, and made the sting much sharper. He shifted quickly, puffing his cheeks out as he struggled to rearrange himself so the fullness wasn't so acute and also so he didn't look weird.

Though honestly he was caring a little less about looking weird right now.

Having his legs casually spread lessened the pressure from the belt, but made it a hell of a lot harder to clench his muscles. He started to bounce his leg as the producers, assistant producers, cinematographers and assorted other personnel filed in.

TG: whats the deal  
TG: not questioning sir just well  
TG: this is new  
TG: and not the best time if you ask me  
TT: No one asked you.  
TT: Control freak needs controlling.

D puffed out his cheeks again. What the fuck was his problem? Shifting in his chair again, he thinned his lips at the twinge of his bladder. He scanned the men and women in the room, anything to distract himself from his growing need. He was not a control freak! Just because he was the bossy director guy, just because he was a little… tightly wound…

The head producer was hard to listen to. He was boring as hell and he talked in circles, and D was left with nothing to focus on but the burn that was starting to creep down into his cock. He'd been drunk the last time he had to piss this bad - he must have been. Coffee might be a diuretic but he was usually pretty quick to go when he had to. He stared into the space over the producer's head, feeling the hateful weight around his wrist. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He was never getting out of here, was he? He was still twitchy and fiddly as hell, and he found himself running his thumb nervously along his jaw. Needed a shave. Huh.

He'd been pretty fucking sure these assholes just wanted to blow hot air at each other, and that suspicion increased when no one called for his opinion. It seemed to be all budgetary shit, as usual, which he ignored without fail and did what he wanted anyways. He found himself caring a hell of a lot less than usual, and bounced his leg a little faster as the pressure in his bladder slowly built. It was exponential with his legs open like this. He moved to close them almost without thinking, biting back a hiss as his belt buckle dug sharply into his swollen bladder. Okay.

After a quick glance around from behind the shades he was once again very glad he wore, D surreptitiously slipped a hand down under the table, pushing the leather end of his belt slowly, slowly back through the buckle. If he just took it nice and easy, no one would notice. He let out a soft sigh in anticipation of relief when he felt the end of the belt pop out of the buckle. This would be the hard part, but so worth it. Staying completely casual, he pulled at the belt until the prong popped loose; even though he was gritting his teeth at the increased tightness. Then he let it go, almost actually gasping at how much better that felt. Wow. Yeah, he might be okay now. He could do this.

Uncomfortably, he rearranged himself, now able to sit with his legs together. That helped even more, though the muscles down there were starting to ache with how tight he was clenching. Still, he could totally do this. He stared at the blackberry on the table in front of him - he hadn't got any more messages since that last, though it wasn't like he could answer them. Too bad, cause he would've liked to gloat that actually, he was doing pretty okay.

Twenty minutes and several presentation charts with too many numbers on them later, he was not doing so okay. Even though the belt was open, his bladder was starting to actually throb with need. He gave up bouncing his leg because it was starting to make it worse, and just concentrated on squeezing his thighs together. His hand, still under the table, started to restlessly rub his thigh. Fuck, he had to get out of here. This was getting bad, really bad. He'd thought it was bad before, but that was nothing compared to this. He'd love to go back to that, really, really love it.

It was getting to the point where he wasn't sure how he'd be able to stand up. What if he actually did piss himself? What if it happened right there, in front of everyone? Nausea actually washed through him at the thought. No way. That wasn't going to happen. He could do this.

Then his stomach started to really cramp up. A sharp pain shot through his abdomen; almost like he was getting the shits, and he bit the inside of his lip. He could just leave, he was known for not being that polite, but the idea of having to admit his problem was so intensely humiliating he couldn't even consider it.

And Bro had never said he could go.

Another sharp pain, and this time it stayed, his entire lower abdomen cramping up into agony. He barely resisted curling up on himself, surpressing a soft choking noise. At this point he might've just stood up and left, but he wasn't sure if that was an option any more. Not only was his body trying to double him over with pain, he was starting to feel intense pressure right at the tip of his dick. He knew it was right there, that he was that fucking close to pissing all over himself. What the fuck was he going to do? His hand shook a little on his thigh, and then shot to his crotch. It was instinctive; his last attempt to hold the floodgates. He squeezed, his dick half hard from his full bladder and absolutely aching.

The head producer hit the button to raise the projection screen. Holy shit, he could go now. He pressed his hand harder to his crotch, swallowing with some difficulty - his mouth was awfully dry. It might be too late. He was pretty sure it was too late.

TG: k so meetings over you sadistic fuck  
TG: sitting here in agony clutching my junk thanks very much  
TT: Yet you still manage to sass me. Why am I not surprised?  
TG: pretty sure i cant stand up  
TG: what the fuck am i going to do when i piss myself in front of all these idiots  
TG: how do i explain that  
TT: Never said you could do that.  
TG: okay momentarily its not going to be a matter of obey or fucking disobey its just going to happen you should probably make your peace with that

As together as he managed to sound over text, he was a shaky, increasingly red in the face mess. The cramps were getting worse. Most of the people in the room had filtered out, and he desperately hoped none of them had noticed his decidedly flushed cheeks.

TT: Get yourself to the bathroom and call me.  
TG: not happening man im gonna lose it as soon as i get up  
TT: I have faith in you.

D forced himself to let go of his dick, thankful that his jacket hid his undone belt. Okay. Okay, he could do this. There was a bathroom just across the hall and two doors down. He could make this. He left the script on the table, fairly confident someone would bring it to him later. Even if they didn't, he couldn't give less of a shit if he tried.

His bladder sloshed agonizingly even as he shifted to stand. Oh god, oh fuck. Gripping the table white-knuckled, he forced himself to stand up. He wouldn't have thought it could get worse, but could it ever. Gravity made it feel like he had a rock in there, and another wave of nausea swept over him. Suddenly, he felt a spurt of liquid hard and fast against his briefs. Oh god. Panic rising, he clamped down even harder than before, the pain dizzying and almost overwhelming. Oh no oh no oh no. He almost tripped over his chair getting out of the room; no longer thinking, just doing. Next thing he knew he was stumbling through the bathroom door, and the very relief of being so close to a toilet made him relax enough for another dangerous spurt.

Tears actually came to his eyes with the effort of stopping the flow again, and he felt warmth dripping down the leg of his slacks. He fumbled his phone out, crashing against the wall of a stall, trembling head to toe, knees knocking together. He did not want to call Bro, didn't want to hear the shake in his voice, didn't want to have to do the begging he knew he'd have to.

"I see you made it."

"Barely." Never mind shaking, his voice was almost a whine. 

"Got a wet spot on your pants?" The warm purr of Bro's voice told him very clearly that the man had his hard cock in his hand.

"Y-yeah." D pawed at the metal door of the stall, pulling it closed and shakily sliding the lock. "Just let me go…"

"Hmmmn. I'm really enjoying having Hollywood's most powerful man crying and begging for me."

"M'not… crying, it just. Fucking h-hurts." He choked, his legs almost buckling under him.

"Aw. Poor baby."

"Shut the fuck up." He was clutching his now wet crotch again. He would sit down on the toilet to relieve the pressure of gravity, but the temptation of sitting there would be too much for his poor muscles and he knew it.

"You can go in your pants."

"Fuck no." He tried to laugh, but it just turned into a sad choking noise. "T-they're already wet, ain't you ha. Happy?" His accent was thicker than usual in his distress. "M'at w-work…"

"Yeah. And you're gonna mess your pants." Fuck he could hear the smirk too. It was infuriating.

The pain spiked, and he actually whimpered. "P-please, please, please please fuck it h-hurts…"

"Then let it go." Bro cooed. "If it hurts so much, let it go."

"Noooo…" he really sounded ilke the baby he was about to prove he was, now. His voice was high and whiny and desperate. 

"C'mon, babe." he cajoled. "Lose control. Let go."

D bit his lip. Finally, with a low groan, he tried to let the muscles relax. At first, he thought nothing was going to happen. He trembled on the edge, in pain and just as terrified that he wasn't going to piss as that he was.

Then he felt a dribble down his leg. Soon, it became a slow stream, soaking the crotch of his slacks. He felt the warmth spread down his legs, and he let out something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. It felt like even though he was finally emptying his bladder, it was so swollen that it didn't feel like it was draining at all. There was no way in hell he could stop it if he tried, now. The muscles were sore and weak and had completely given up.

"That feeling better?"

"Mmn." He rested his head against the cold metal, feeling the warmth spreading down to his shoes. The stream felt like it went on forever.

"Not done yet?" There was way too much amusement in his voice.

"Don't you dare fucking laugh," he groaned.

"Wish I was there to see." Bro said, voice slightly husky. D could hear the splatter of piss hitting the floor. 

"You're disgusting."

He actually did laugh. "Bet you wish I was there too."

"Yeah." D whispered, trying to ignore the growing puddle underneath him. 

"I'll give you a treat when you come back, babe. You impressed me."

"… still hate you." The flow finally turned to a trickle. His legs were so shaky he thought he might collapse. 

"Bet your suit does too, babe."

D was soaked down to his shoes. "How the fuck am I gonna get out of here?" he grumbled. Like hell he was going back to that desk. He was going to go curl up in his hotel room.

"Shhh. Wearing black pants, aren't you. Just mop up so you ain't drippin and act natural."

"And if someone notices?" He'd done some pretty damn daring things in his career, but the idea of walking out of this bathroom with piss soaked pants turned his stomach a little.

"Like anybody ever questions you."

D just made a frustrated, distressed noise at him.

"You can do it. You've done real good - you're a good boy." It made him all warm inside to hear that, and brought heat up to his cheeks too. He opened his mouth to reply, but was greeted by the dial tone. Bro had hung up.

With a heavy sigh, he slid his blackberry into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a long ream of toilet paper to clean himself up.


End file.
